I Have You (aka) The Head of the Doctor
by thegirlwhowondered
Summary: No matter what else, the Doctor and Clara have each other. And Handles. Implied!Whouffle. (SPOILERS for The Time of the Doctor.)


**A/N Spoilers for Time of the Doctor here! Excuse my lame jokes about the episode, I couldn't help myself xD**

**Based on a prompt from anonymous on Tumblr:**

_**Time of the Doctor never happened :. Clara falls ill and the Doctor nurses her back to health with the help of Handles**_

* * *

Clara giggled as the Doctor danced around the console, pushing buttons and pulling levers.

"Where are we going?" She asked. "Or...when, are we going?"

"No idea!" The Doctor looked as though that was the most exiting answer ever. "But I'm sure it'll be great!"

"Are we going to find...G-Gallifrey?" Clara chewed on the tip of her thumb nervously. It wasn't a subject she'd brought up since meeting the Doctor's other selves and attempting to save his home. She wasn't sure how he'd react.

The Doctor's lively movements slowed, and he sighed. "Eventually. It will turn up, we just have to wait."

"Oh." Clara moved a little closer, coming to stand by the Doctor. "Those big sad eyes...sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's fine," the Doctor insisted, putting on his brightest smile for his Clara. "I mean, knowing my luck, finding Gallifrey will probably come with some long winded and ridiculous ordeal where I'm stuck on some boring planet forever, having to defend them, while I work out how to free Gallifrey without replicating the time war. Then it'll finish with me sneezing and turning into some ancient Roman with ugly-coloured kidneys."

"Yeah, that'd be _awful_," Clara agreed.

* * *

"Handles, can you read that last ingredient out again? I'm not sure that I should be putting electrical cord in soup!"

If Handles has eyes, he would have rolled them. "Potato. Not electrical cords."

"That makes much more sense," the Doctor admitted. From down the hall, he heard another tiny sneeze. "Handles, go get her a blanket." After a moment, it dawned on the Doctor. "Right, right," he mumbled, dishing out a bowl of the soup and setting it on a tray for Clara, along with some apple juice and a vase of Jasmines (Clara's favourite flower).

The Doctor carried the tray to Clara with one arm; and had Handles tucked in under the other. "Clara?" he whispered stepping in through the door, only to find his beautiful young companion fast asleep.

Handles was the one who broke the silence: "Attention. Do not feed sleeping human. Such an action can lead to choking, death, and in severe cases, a horrible lecture."

"Oh, quiet." The Doctor swung handles against the wall gently before sitting himself and his cranial sidekick on the edge of the bed. "Clara," he murmured quietly, shaking her shoulder only lightly.

"Mmph," Clara mumbled, opening her eyes slowly. "Yes?"

"You should eat." The Doctor slid off the bed and knelt down beside Clara, stroking her hair off her face. "Can you do that."

"Doctor, your concern is sweet, but it's just a cold. I'll be okay." She took his hand and squeezed it softly.

The Doctor shook his head. "I know, but I still-I mean, I-" How could he possibly tell Clara how he felt without telling her, well, how he _felt_?

Clara's gaze softened, as though she already knew. "I understand, you don't need to-"

"Warning. Information available. Soup will begin decreasing in temperature exponentially in-"

"Handles!" The Doctor whined. That had been a perfectly beautiful moment and he _had_ to interrupt.

"You requested for me to inform you if there were any urgent matters that required your immediate attention," Handles reasoned.

The Doctor stood, and helped Clara sit up. Carefully, he scooped up tiny spoonfuls and helped Clara eat. She protested at first, of course, but a nasty coughing fit got her to cooperate.

"...Thank you Doctor," she whispered, rejecting the twelfth or so spoon, in favour of holding his hands instead. "For everything. You really live up to your name."

"Because you taught me how. Do you remember?"

Clara smiled. Of course she remembered. That was an important day; all of Gallifrey was nearly destroyed, and-

"Room temperature approximately 1.2 above below ideal."

The Doctor turned around to face Handles and glared at him. "Excuse me, I didn't salvage you so you could interrupt me, I did it so you could help me get ahead in certain matters." Then he turned back to Clara with a proud grin, and pointed his thumb towards Handles. "Get it? Ahead? A-_head_?"

Clara rolled her eyes. "I get it," she said with mock sarcasm. "I don't know where else I'd get my laughs, Doctor. I'm glad I have you."

The Doctor laughed, and pulled Clara into a gentle hug. "I'm glad I have you."

"Room temperature now approximately 1.3 degrees above ideal. Suggest you alter room temperature."

The Doctor was about to scold Handles for interrupting, but when Clara started to laugh, he couldn't help but grin. He picked Handles up and nestled him between them. "Are you jealous that we aren't paying attention to you now?"

"Room temperature still 1.3 degrees above ideal."

"Aw, Handles." Clara giggled, and trailed a finger down his face. "I'm glad we have you too."

After a moment of silence, Handles said, "...Information available. Room temperature ideal."


End file.
